


The Sun Sets Eastward

by Hierarchical



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Crying, Despair, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Fantastic Racism, Femslash February, Fire Emblem Fates: Conquest Spoilers, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Grief/Mourning, Heartbreak, Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, Love, Multi, Nohr | Conquest Route, Post-Canon, Post-Fire Emblem Fates: Conquest, Racism, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Ships Will Be Tagged As They Become More Apparent, Trust Issues, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-23
Updated: 2019-02-23
Packaged: 2019-11-04 14:02:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17899475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hierarchical/pseuds/Hierarchical
Summary: The war has concluded in Nohr's victory, but even a year after it, Hana's not over it. Especially when she sees Princess Elise attempting to befriend her liege.As their fingertips play atop the other’s knuckles and their naked arms share a bashful skinship, every time Sakura turns her head to lock eyes with her Elise, they glitter more brightly than the moon above—their very own stage-light as they walk in an imaginary meadow—a smile on her face; one of a fool’s optimism that she’s never seen before. It’s hopeful, warm, compassionate—it’s the rising sun.And it belongs to someone else.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> AN: This is my first work of Fire Emblem Fates officially, so feedback is always appreciated!

Hana never would have expected that a dusky sky and long chestnut hair would complement one another as well as they did, but there are still two problems: the moonlight, and the clocks all around her striking twelve, reminding her that it was a fresh, frigid morning in Nohr.

Diamonds are the usual girl’s best friend; shadows are hers, and for the few weeks she’s been shadowing Sakura, she’s grown quite fond of them. She never expected that she’d follow her into Nohr this late at night though, but she still knew it was a possibility that it’d happen, and that _she’d_ be the reason.

Princess Elise Crowe of Nohr—the young woman that’s been leading her liege around since the new king’s coronation. She’s the reason why Hana spends day in and day out tracking horses ridden from province to province and spends her Saturday afternoons in Nohrian-littered marketplaces where she hopes that the presence of two princesses distracts from her notably Hoshidan features. She doesn’t want the same boisterous welcome they give to foreigners; especially not when the youngest princess of the streets of deceit is around.

She doesn’t trust her—and she doesn’t trust her people either.

Hana’s never trusted Nohrians, truthfully. She’s heard about the prominent thievery and foul play that plagues their streets, the lies that soar off tongues plated with silver to cheat poor fools out of their coin, the countless brawls that break out over issues of little worth or import; from her time in Nohr and on the battlefield with them, she’s even seen it happen. They always happen at night; especially during an hour like this.

She’s extra careful tonight, using midnight’s curses in her favor as she goes from streets like burnt chocolate chip cookies to marketplaces filled with haggling to restaurants with outdoor seating where the sound of twangling Nohrian instruments never comes to rest, and so many more places she can’t even bring herself to remember. It’s like Elise just _never stops._

_Don’t her feet hurt in those heels?_ Hana thinks to herself, unable to get that thought that becomes all the more prominent the more that they walk out of her mind.

The entire time, though, she never loses her mechanically-targeted gaze on the youngest Hoshidan princess’ cherry-strewn sundress, fortifying her safety as she traverses through the now-not-so-foreign lands. There’s one thing that she can never understand, though. 

As their fingertips play atop the other’s knuckles and their naked arms share a bashful skinship, every time Sakura turns her head to lock eyes with her Elise, they glitter more brightly than the moon above—their very own stage-light as they walk in an imaginary meadow—a smile on her face; one of a fool’s optimism that she’s never seen before. It’s hopeful, warm, compassionate—it’s the rising sun.

And it belongs to someone else.

* * *

“Hana.”

Her name painfully rings in her ears like slowly clanging metal chimes, reminiscent of the lifeless drawl Setsuna’s voice carries. Her head torpidly slides off the sides of her hands and hits the table in front of her with a painful sound—and if it’s a knee-jerk reaction, her entire body flies backward, nearly causing a catastrophe that teeters on the back legs of her cypress chair that luckily, rocks forward almost immediately, her eyes fixed to still pools of aquamarine as the chairs lands.

“Yes? That’s my name,” the samurai says, brushing the loose strands of hair away from her face and rubbing the dark circles that bedevil once-vibrant hazel eyes. “Sorry.” She sleepily looks down to the shogi board in front of her and examines it, but can’t quite remember where all the pieces were before she had dozed off, so her eyes flick back up to the archer and she asks, “Is it my move?”

Wordlessly, Setsuna nods and Hana moves her hand forward, two fingers firmly placed on a random piece on the board that she thoughtlessly advances, yawning subsequently afterward.

“Chekkumeito,” she declares with a taunting smirk. _Checkmate._

Hana rolls her eyes. “Uzai,” she mutters. _Pain in the ass._

“Were you really expecting that not to happen with a move like that?”

Sighing Hana shakes her head. “I forfeit.” Placing two fingers atop the king piece, she slides it across the board, colliding it with any pieces unfortunate enough to be within its direct path until its tip only lies inches away from the archer’s chest. “Congratulations. The Ishikawa Army has been conquered by The Akiyama Army’s conquest,” she yawns, resting her head atop the comfortable arms once again.

_That’s weird_ , Setsuna thinks. _Hana never forfeits._

It’s true. Hana’s had the spirit of a fierce competitor from her earliest years. When people have dared to give her limits, she’s always surpassed them far beyond the expectations; when they told her she couldn’t do something because of her gender or age, it’s nothing but a lie that’s disproven in months, weeks, or even days.

And when she and Setsuna were the only ones to fail strategy last year, she _still_ managed to lead the both of them through a deadly encounter with a band of Nohrian ruffians after only after just couple weeks’ reading of _The Art of War_.

She’s always had a knack for excelling and not giving up; in fact, not once when Setsuna even remember when she’s even willingly accepted defeat. So frankly, she’s shocked to her core when she finally does. She’s always expected when this time would come, it’d be at the hands of the now-deceased King Garon himself; nothing more, nothing less. Not over a simple game of shogi.

Setsuna purses her lips, deliberating over her words before she finally asks, “Why?”

“Because you won,” is Hana near-immediate answer. Her fingers play a monotonous tune against the wooden table and her sleepy eyes dart off to the right of the room, looking longingly at nothing. “It would be unfair to make you keep playing when you’ve already won.”

“Oh.” The archer takes the time to brush a loose strand of aquamarine stemming from her fringe away from her eyes. “Sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?”

“I just am. You look like you’re going to cry.” Her head hands and her frown stretches further across her face. “Did I cause that? I’m sorry.”

Hana’s eyes immediately flick back over to Setsuna, who now looks like a kicked puppy. She raises a single right thumb up to her cheek to meet a fleeing tear halfway. Setsuna was about to right.

Emphasis on ‘about.’

Hana squeezes her eyes shut so tightly that she looks as if she’s wincing and grits her teeth. She doesn’t want to cry. She’s promised herself that never again she would shed a tear over anything. But recently, it’s been far harder than she’s imagined. The war that’s turned so many of her friends into memories, the defeat of a nation she’s worked tirelessly to protect, the fact that she may be losing Sakura to them next. It makes her want to wail with the force of a person vomiting on all fours. But she can’t.

Not anymore.

She forces the self-afflicted conflicted feelings about her liege out of her head, as difficult of a task as that is, and she offers Setsuna the embers of her fading energy and attention. Her hands find their way as fists weighing on her thighs and her eyes wide open and boring right into Setsuna’s, who now looks a little bit more terrified than sad—though, Hana can easily hypothesize that she’s probably making a scary face or looking at her too hard, so, to ease both of their nerves, she looks away.

“There’s no need to apologize, Setsuna,” she says. “It’s fine. I’m just a little tired. It’s not going to be fair if I just _let you_ win because I’m not at one-hundred percent, y’know? That’s no fun.”

Setsuna wonders if Hana takes her for an idiot. She understands that, despite it all, no one thinks her the smartest, but this is an insult. It doesn’t take a genius to realize that she’s talking to a faux Hana. From the time they’ve spent together, she’s seen the gradual degradation of genuine smiles to ones that mask lingering pain that pushes itself to the forefront. She sees the frustration and discordant sadness that eats away at her when she sees her training and sparring through slightly sloppy movements and attacks that barely miss.

Even if she _is_ absent-minded, she’s perceptive, and she knows Hana knows it. She thought from the time the two of them have spent together devising all sorts of outlandish stratagems that _work_ that she’d figure it out by now. 

“That’s unlike you,” Setsuna says, her words salted with bitterness. She pauses for a long moment and raises her brow. “You never give up. Why with me? You could have still won.”

Hana’s not used to hearing any sort of emotion in Setsuna’s voice—especially negative—so naturally, she’s a little startled. She looks down to the board and bites her lips.

_Setsuna’s right. A few more moves and I could have totally twisted the game in my favor._

The samurai finds herself at a genuine loss for words. She knows that she doesn’t appreciate Setsuna’s tone—but she thinks she can understand why she’s upset, though her fatigue makes it so she’s can’t be too sure. But she doesn’t think it’s polite to just ask outright either. It’d sound like an insult. So, she settles for the simplest option.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers under her breath, her gaze fixed to her knees once more before she raises her head to look gaze at Setsuna through tear-obfuscated eyes. She promised herself that she’d never cry again, but she’s failing to keep the tears constrained within her eyelashes. She’s not all too sure all the reasons why they’re coming, but she’s hurt deep down. 

What she does know, however, is that it’s partially because she’s betrayed herself. She’s realized that she’s let herself down on two fronts. She’s not only forsaken her own promises to herself not to cry anymore and to stay strong for everyone, but she feels as if she’s failed herself in all regards in just… giving up! She’s the own reason for her biggest defeat. Hana knows that…! She’s let everyone down!

And yet, before she knows it, she finds herself enveloped in warm arms. They’re soft, comforting, and too familiar. She’s used to Setsuna’s hugs; the solace she finds in her arms and the feeling of tiny hands soothing the tense muscles in her back. But Hana feels as if she’s not worth them.

“I-I’m sorry,” Hana feebly cries once more.

“It’s alright,” Setsuna says. “Just be sure to let it all out.”

As if Hana takes it as a command, her silent sobs aggressively turn themselves into wails and screams. She feels so unbelievably weak when the tears come. 

Tears are for little girls, that’s not what she is. Not anymore.

* * *

She is fifteen-and-a-half when the sun burns out. 

But before today, it’s been the time of her life.

She’s spent weeks upon weeks under this same cherry tree where she’s confessed to her new lover for the first time, brushing away her silky hair to whisper sweet nothings into her ear that turns her face as rose as her short vivacious locks. It’s always about how much she loves her, how long she wants them to be together, how she promises that they’ll be together no matter anything. Drizzle or storm. Peace or war. 

She genuinely believed it.

Hana loves her girlfriend; she loves her more than she can ever describe in all the words in all the books in all of Hoshido—no, the world.

So when Sakura calls her to meet underneath that very same cherry tree tucked away atop that hill on the border of Hoshido that’s become the center of her universe, she doesn’t think twice about it. She’s there immediately.

She waits for her, shielded by the lengthy branches that have grown so perfectly around her since she and Sakura started to go there two years ago. It’s genuinely become her favorite place; there’s nowhere else she’d rather be most of the time.

Her thoughts ardently trip over one another as she lets her mind run wild. She giddily concocts endless possibilities in her mind for things for them to do today. It’s been a while since they’ve gone to the beach together; Hana misses the feeling of the comforting sand beneath her toes and the roaring sea crashing against her thighs.

_Maybe I’ll ask Sakura if we can go there next!_

Her overbearing glee causes her to squeeze out a giggle, and before she even gets the chance to think up activities for them to do at the beach—she sees her, the most beautiful sight in Hoshido tinted in all pink.

But it’s different this time.

The usual smile that she’s greeted with is absent, replaced by a look of pain. Tears trickle down her face with reckless abandon and her puffy eyes seem as they peer into Hana’s soul and the one she loves slowly approaches on shaky steps. She’s seen her cry time and time again over various things, but she usually runs into her arms. This time she seems… hesitant.

Hana decides to take fate into her own hands. She sprints down the hill at speeds so uncontrollable that the straps of her slippers blaze her feet and the web of her toes. The few seconds that she runs towards her seems like an eternity, and when they finally meet each other, Hana greets her with a hostilely-comforting embrace, slamming her into the ground.

And it’s quickly negated.

Sakura pushes her away with the force of an ox, causing her to land on her back. That’s when she _knows_ that something is wrong. 

“Sakura,” she breathes as she props herself up on her elbows, reddened and scraped from the fall. 

Sakura just stands up and looms over like death, tears falling down her cheeks to splash against Hana, and there, the young samurai sees it—the look of absolute pain that diseases her face and tortures her more every time she sees it. It’s the visage of beauty contorted by tumultuous sniveling and overbearing heartache.

It makes Hana sick to look at. Denying the physical pain she was feeling she pushes herself up on her elbows and to her aching feet. Taking slow, shaky steps as she moves towards the Hoshidan princess laying on the floor with her hands now covering her face as she approaches; unable to stand watching the girl she loves so much suffer any longer, she drops to her knees and screams, “Sakura, tell me what’s wrong! Please!”

Tears well up in her eyes and soon begin to escaping as she begins to share her pain without even knowing what’s troubling her, but Hana keeps her now-tear-obfuscated eyes on her girlfriend the entire time, trying to rationalize what would be the next course of action… but drawing blanks no matter what… 

It hurts her; more than a katana twisted in her heart.

However, the world stops for a moment as she sees Sakura pulls her hands downward, her face marred by the residue of her own emotions, and she mouths something that Hana can’t understand… 

Hana’s about to whisper to her say whatever it was louder, but the moment she opens her mouth Sakura screams, “We can’t be together anymore!”

Hana falls to her knees instantly and the world, for just a moment, shrouds itself in suffocating darkness. There’s a certain deadness now as she looks to a vibrant marketplace just north of where they are that feels like a slap in the face… She can feel everyone over there smiling. Everyone's always smiling in this part of Hoshido.

But not her. She’s sure now that the katana in the heart hurts more because that’s exactly what she feels.

She’s left hollow and she feels like collapsing right onto the floor and not waking up—ever. But emotion washes in with the fury of a flood wave breaking a dam, and she wails with the ferocity of a severe rainstorm.

A pair of solicitous warm arms wrap around her and squeeze as if attempting to resuscitate happiness back into her—but it’s already too late. As much as she loved Sakura’s hugs, they carry a different undertone now. One that makes it feel as if she’s being asphyxiated. 

Hana feels like she’s about to throw up, but the empty feeling in her stomach coupled with it makes it all the more agonizing. She’s plagued with a hurricane of now-hurtful memories; her mind is a vicious whirlwind of self-deprecating thoughts that seem endless and utterly destroy her, and from the bottom of her stomach, she screams, “Why?!” viscerally, releasing all the exploding pain in her heart with one guttural wail.

Sakura, on the other hand, felt palpitating guilt forming at the bottom of her chest. She’s always dreaded this day if it ever happened—the day they’d have to leave their relationship behind. But it still feels so surreal now that she’s seeing Hana chaotically unravel before her. 

It’s painful; so much so that the feeling of hurt is infectious.

Tears leak beneath punch pink irises, painting streams down her cheeks that soon evolve into rivers as she lets her feelings overpower her. At that moment she can’t help but feel so… _weak_ ; weaker than usual… 

Sakura despises it. She’s so tired of feeling feeble and helpless. She’s run herself through the processes of doing this time and time again, but she still finds herself reduced to tears. She’s _always_ reduced to tears.

Those tears always ignite a blaze that causes her ego to combust—a fury of self-hatred and self-depreciation that comes whenever she cries. 

She _hates_ it when she cries, but it happens so often she _knows_ people think that it’s just part of her. That she’s the weakest of her siblings; the one lacking the bravery to do anything right. A useless healer who can’t help the ones that she loves the most. A stupid crying girl who’s nothing.

As always, Sakura just grows tired of herself, and that rage sedates sadness for an instant; just long enough for her to wheeze, “Because Mother believes that it’s improper for me to have relations with my retainer,” through gritted teeth that chatter immediately after—and the tears return as quickly as ever, reducing to the same unsightly bawling as her retainer once she feels the despair take its hold once more. She only abhors herself more for it.

Her answer is just all kinds of wrong. It’s unfair. _Too_ unfair. But Hana realizes there’s nothing she can do about it. Despondency penetrates from beneath layer upon layer of uproarious pain… and all she can do is squeeze Sakura as if clinging to dear life.

“That’s not… _fair_ ,” she whimpers bitterly between sobs.

Sakura’s response is a much meeker, “I know, I know… I’m so sorry…” that’s nearly audible, but just enough for the words to ring in Hana’s ears. “I’m so so sorry, Hana… I love you, sweetheart… I’m so so sorry…”

Her words bring no consolation. Only anger to mix in with the sadness once she understands the circumstances. This obviously isn’t something that she wants. This is something that’s forced upon her. The more she thinks about it, the angrier she gets. The more her fingers dig holes into her back as she squeezes her. The more swears that leak from her mouth like a dripping faucet. The more her teeth efficaciously scrape against one another as she attempts to muffle the screams she wants to release. And… for just a moment, she hopes for a traitorous act. For treason to be committed against her country.

But, as much as she feels a blooming hatred towards her queen, it decays just as quickly, and Hana is disgusted herself.

And for a single moment, she thinks, _Maybe Queen Mikoto is right… I’m not right for her… I hate myself!_

Sakura sits in a similar agony—but instead of anger directed towards someone initially, it’s always been towards herself. She cries just as hard as Hana, gripping at her back with just as much desperation.

They both clutch one another for as long as they can with shuddering emotion and chattering teeth, bathing in the same energy. As heartache washes against the shore of memories they’ve made together, they can both only ponder…

What an unfair world that they live in.


	2. Chapter 2

She is now seventeen and a broken samurai, tormented by a war that’s never stopped taking from her, even after it’s over.

She’s been crying for what feels like an eternity, but in truth, it’s only been a few minutes. It’s plenty of time for Hana to chide herself internally. She’s _too_ disappointed in herself. 

_I’m so much better than this_ , she thinks. _I know I am… So why… do I still cry? Why do I keep losing?! First the war and then Sakura…! Why?!_

Her thoughts trip ardently trip over one another—entangled in the feeling of failings past and present. Even though she’s mostly calmed down, the negativity hangs above her still. And admittedly, it always has… it’s just been getting harder to control.

Ever since that fateful day when she lost Sakura, she’s been distracting herself. She’s just never wanted to admit it.

Well, not exactly ‘ _distracting_ ’, but she’s certainly always worked herself harder since then… and it’s just gotten worse as the years have gone by.

It’s been her way to cope with any sort of pain. Whatever anyone would tell her that she couldn’t do, she’s always done it, and surpassing all expectations too; from as early as she could remember her father telling her that ‘girls can’t be warriors,’ and that, if she ever decided to take up arms, she would have to become a cleric or a priestess instead.

She proved him wrong—honored him after he died. Proved her worth by doing what he believed to be impossible. If only he could see her now…

Ever since she’s felt that sense of self-validation she’s chased it. She’s one of the strongest in the Hoshidan army. She’s mastered not only the art of the sword but the axe and lance as well just so she could solidify that fact. So how did she lose to the brutes of _Nohr_ of all places? 

Hana’s conclusion is simple. She’s not strong enough and she still has work to do…

She needs to, so she can feel _good_ about something again… 

With ‘peace’ acquired and no threat on the horizon, as much as she hates to admit it, life has been a little more than dull. The usual brigand or thief comes once every three weeks, but they’re not a threat, and other than that, she’s just been doing _nothing_.

She doesn’t hope for an uprising or a revolution. She would never wish that upon Queen Hinoka, who she sees tirelessly working to bring Hoshido back to its glory days before the war and plethora of Nohrian attacks, but it’s been nothing but menial days; even when she does go to shadow Sakura’s dealings with Princess Elise.

Seeing them go into the same shops to buy flowers can only become interesting so many times. It’s not enjoyable, but it’s more like an obligation. If Sakura could be foolish enough to extend trust to the Nohrians, she can’t, and definitely won’t. She’s not losing her to them. She’s already promised herself of that.

“Hana.”

Her name echoes in her ears with a familiar metallic drawl—with the exact same tone and volume as before—pulling her out of her thoughts for just a moment. It’s then when Hana realizes that the only traces of her previous despondency are the stagnant tears that have dried along her cheeks. 

And Hana smiles.

_They’re gone_ , she thinks. _No more tears. Now I can finally start doing again._

She proudly looks up to Setsuna with a piercing gaze—and she sees her looking right back at her, releasing her from her tight embrace. It’s not with a look that Hana’s accustomed to, though. The way her eyes shift so slightly, the slight curl of her lips both inwards and downwards—it’s off. She seems concerned, but… almost fearful as well.

Hana opens her mouth to speak, but Setsuna prioritizes her own words. “You’re smiling funny,” she says, her voice shaky, “and you look scary. What’s wrong?”

Hana moves both sets of her index and middle fingers up to her cheeks and fiddles with them as if trying to rearrange her own face. It’s a habit of hers when someone says she looks off, but she does it a little longer than usual, pondering what Setsuna’s said… She wishes she had a mirror so she could see her grin if it was something to make her have that sort of reaction.

“Sorry,” the samurai apologizes, letting her hands fall back at her sides. “If I scared you, I mean. I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened. Honest.” She clears her throat before continuing. “Anyway, I didn’t mean to forfeit. I’ll admit I wasn’t thinking properly because I was so tired.” She politely bows and holds it as she continues. “Sorry, Setsuna. It won’t happen again.”

Setsuna’s shocked. Not from the apology, but Hana’s own tone. Hana doesn’t speak with the same vigor she usually does, instead, it seems as if she’s only going through the motions—like she’s reading an uninteresting script from a play she doesn’t like. Admittedly, it only makes her more concerned.

This time, she’s going to put her foot down. As Hana comes back up, Setsuna raises her voice slightly as she says, “Hana.”

It catches her off guard and she stops midway. “Yes?”

“ _Talk to me_ ,” Setsuna pleads. “Please. I’m not stupid, Hana. I know something’s happening. Tell me what. I want to help. You’re not acting like you nowadays… Is it something to do with Lady Sakura?”

Hana freezes immediately, and a sense of dread spreads through her.

_Is it that obvious?_ she thinks to herself.

If Setsuna could figure that out, then… who else? Azama? Hinoka? Sakura herself?! She nervously nibbles on her lip, unsure of what kind of answer she should reward her with. All she knows is that this is a problem.

Hana doesn’t let the words sit long in her mouth; she knows it’s worse if she just stares at her and doesn’t say anything at all. So, she asks, with just a hint of hostility in her tone, “And what of it?”

It’s not the most sensitive approach, but it’s the one that comes to her first. She stands her ground, giving Setsuna the most dominant stare that she can, though, she drops it once she realizes that the archer cracks a smirk at her.

_Now that’s the Hana I know_ , Setsuna thinks.

Setsuna lazily cracks her knuckles and says, “Oh nothing,” in a sing-song voice. “I was just curious about it… You seem to be leaving the castle an awful lot lately. Azama and I have been wondering if you had found yourself a girl in Cyrkensia and don’t want to tell Lady Sakura about it.” Hana grits her teeth as a reflex, and that’s when Setsuna knows she’s tripped her up—especially when Hana cusses under her breath. The archer’s smile dominates more of her face; it’s definitely carrying a cocky bravado now. “I’m right, aren’t I? What’s her name?”

As shocked as Hana is, something inside of her screams at her to go along with it. That this is her chance; her out to Setsuna’s questioning. She forces a smile across her face and her hands fall stiffly at her sides, her hands balled into fists. “Yes, er, actually…! The prettiest girl in all the land! She’s so amazing! Her name is…” 

It’s then when she realizes… she hadn’t exactly thought this through… She doesn’t want to call a Hoshidan name; she knows Setsuna would carry out her own malicious investigation if she did, and with Yukimura’s help, her lie would be easily exposed. But she doesn’t know many Nohrian names either—especially female ones. She’s only had to interrogate a Nohrian once in a blue moon and they were usually male, and even with all of her trips in and out of the province, the names she heard in passing never seemed to stick; she’s never been good with names anyway. So, instead, she calls, “Elise…?”

Setsuna’s pupils grow as wide as saucers. “ _Elise Crowe_?!”

“Um… yes!” Hana hastily replies, slamming her hands against the sides of her thighs as she bounces up. “Elise… Crowe…” Hana feels an extreme urge to slap herself in the face. After all, she had just called _the Nohrian Royal Family’s Elise_.

_Ugh! How could I not realize that?! That’s common knowledge!_

Her gaze immediately goes to Setsuna, who’s acting like a crazed monkey—eagerly jumping up and down while clapping her hands together with the widest, liveliest grin she’s seen her wear in a while. She’s completely enraptured in Hana’s lie, and the samurai knows better than to let it sit for too long.

She clears her throat loudly, capturing the attention of the giddy Setsuna. “Well,” she starts, sheepishly running her hand through her hair. “It’s… um… not quite _Elise Crowe_ ,” she sheepishly giggles. “I… actually don’t go to see a girl in Cyrkensia… That, er, was a lie…”

Setsuna instantly deflates—an appropriate term since she quite literally places her hands on the sides of her face and puffs her cheeks with air as she placidly sinks to the floor, crossing her legs, the light in her eyes from some semblance of enjoyment now extinguished. “Oh. Why did you lie?”

“Because,” Hana sighs before continuing to speak, “I’m… not too sure what you’d think of me after I tell you.” 

Setsuna cocks her head, now intrigued by her words. She makes a couple entertaining and outlandish assumptions in her head—honestly, just to entertain herself. Things like Hana being the leader of a rebellion in Cheve and being that fabled disguised singer in Cyrkensia, the one who caused the former king of Nohr so much pain and agony, and that she was going back because she had unfinished business.

She’s absolutely certain that they’re completely off-mark, but she can’t help but crack a chuckle at the silliness of them. It takes her a second to pull herself back to reality, where she gives Hana a quizzical glance. “I see… Well… it’s not like you can tell me that and not tell me. I promise I won’t judge. Please?”

Setsuna gives her a warm smile, but she adds a something extra—her trump card, a deadly weapon that deals the crippling final blow to any denial she’d ever receive. Her dastardly puppy eyes.

Hana’s all too used to seeing them; both used on her and other people. And she falls for them every time. 

When she sees them, she’s initially conflicted, but not entirely for the reason she’d expected. Sure, she had felt the utter guilt Setsuna had soaked her in dragging down on her; the fact that she promised she could tell her anything after she decided to label the archer as her ‘best friend that’s not Lady Sakura, of course,’ but there was something else… 

Part of her wanted to talk about it.

It was like an irritating boil that she needed to scratch. But she felt like she just couldn’t. She knew that if she did, she’d just reveal the ugly truth; make the whole thing worse… And yet, against her better judgment, her lips began moving almost mechanically.

“I’ve been following Lady Sakura in and out of Nohr, and I always see her with Princess Elise, so I was wondering if she was in danger or something! I went there just last night, by the way, but anyway. She’s a Nohrian—and part of the Nohrian Royal Family at that! I don’t trust her! Not one bit! So, whenever the two of them go somewhere, I go too. In the shadows, of course. I never let her see me. They go everywhere and they’re,” she pushes calloused knuckles together as she continues to speak, “ _so damn happy all the time_! And, yes, I’m glad for Sakura, but… _ugh_! It makes me so mad seeing them together. Lady Sakura deserves someone better than her, and I know it! I know it, I know it, I know it! She has to be up to something!”

The words speedily fall from Hana’s mouth and Setsuna takes them all in… and even after she’s finished, the archer doesn’t react. To her, this sounded exactly like something Hana would do. She was actually quite impressed that she hadn’t been caught yet. She had never taken Hana to be this much of a fox.

Her lips curl upward slightly as she says, “Impressive…”

“Huh?”

“I’m impressed,” Setsuna repeats. “A little sad that you kept this from me, but impressed nonetheless. You actually had me fooled thinking you frequently travel to Cyrkensia… I should have thought of this as a possibility.”

“Ugh!” Hana crouches down to the floor and grabs the sides of her head in frustration. “That doesn’t matter now! Look, now you know.” The bottom of her palms find their way right above her eyes, a sigh falling from thin pink lips. “What do you think about it…?”

Setsuna purses her lips, pulling her knees upward to clutch them tightly against her chest. “You’ve told me she seems happy, did you not? How long have you been doing this?”

“Nearly a month now,” Hana answers quickly.

The archer nods twice and then says, “She’s come home every time alive and fine, right? Then why are you worrying?”

“Because,” Hana starts, “she’s a _Nohrian_ , Setsuna. She’s the enemy. She has to be up to something. I just know it. They couldn’t have just been on opposite sides of the war—in one another’s face with weapons drawn—to just… _forget it all_! She’s tricking her. I know she is.”

“Huh?” Setsuna listlessly cocks her head to the side. “Why not? The war’s been over for nearly a year. And it’s not like Nohr doesn’t provide us with resources if we ever need them. They’ve become more allies than enemies nowadays, honestly… I don’t exactly see what would make you think that way.”

“ _The war_ , Setsuna. I don’t need to repeat myself. They’ve taken countless lives— _Hoshidan lives_. Our army is essentially halved, even with the new recruits we’ve been taking. Actually think here for a second. How many of our friends have they taken from us? Who will you need to remember for their atrocities to come to light? Saizo? Kagero? Hinata? Orochi? Prince Takumi? Prince Ry—?”

“ _I get it_!” Setsuna shouts with an unearthly fury in her voice that still manages to mix with her cadaver-like tone. “ _I know, Hana_. You know I haven’t forgotten either. All the lives that we’ve lost to the war are something that I’ll never forget. But, it’s _over_. What’s done is done. It’s gone! We can mourn forever if we really wanted… but that doesn’t mean it’ll bring our friends back!” 

Setsuna brings her hands to her eyes. She feels a visceral pain in her stomach that she swears makes her want to vomit. She’s seen more death than she’d like to, and though she’s grown slightly numb to it, she hates thinking about it. Once she’s reminded of just what they’ve lost to gain… the memories resurface and screen themselves against her eyelids. Obscenity after obscenity replays in her head, and no matter how much she tries to block them out, they venomously suffuse… until she’s trapped.

On the outside, she’s shaking; on the inside, she’s suffering.

Hana can only watch and bemoan what she’s caused.

Phlegmatic feet carry her shaking body over to her to tightly embrace the trembling archer. It’s then when she hears reverent sobs that make her heart ache and feels part of her strawberry-red blouse being dampened a shade darker. It’s a painful experience to be sure.

Especially since she knows that she’s the one who caused it.

Hana despises crying. She’s kept her promise to herself from the day that the sun burnt out to not cry, and she’s used that strength that she’s conjured to try to inspire others. She’s been trying to be strong for everyone else—for those who they’ve lost and haven’t lost yet. 

But she’s known that’s not always been the case.

It feels like it’s been so long since she’s seen Setsuna cry…

* * *

It always worries Hana when the castle halls are ghost-quiet, especially when it’s one in the morning. It’s never silent this early, the halls are always haunted by ominous sobs of someone. Anyone.

But not tonight.

Hana walks up and down the halls, waiting, but she’s not quite sure what for yet. Something? Anything? She can never quite sure what, but she feels her duty to wait; she has that feeling in her gut.

The most familiar weeping is the one that stings the most. She’s memorized the exact harrowing strain of it; it’s one she’s heard for as long as she can remember. 

It’s Sakura’s.

Hana’s almost one-hundred percent certain it’s coming. Especially since the news of Nohr invading Fort Jinya and that they’re they’re set to defend it at dawn has been rampant throughout the kingdom.

She knows Sakura’s never been good at dealing with stress; she was sure this time would be no different. Certainly, she would be wailing, screaming, moving mountains with the sheer ferocity of her trepidation turned vocal.

And yet, you could hear a pin drop.

It’s unnerving in ways that the samurai can’t exactly describe, but the longer it goes in, the more her stomach churns. For a moment, she wonders if the sheer soreness of the situation has left everyone speechless or taken their lives… but then she hears it.

A soft sob, but it’s not one she recognizes… It’s a monotonous alto that sounds like a sharp inhale with someone who has daggers lodged throughout their diaphragm. 

Hana immediately perks up after hearing it, waiting for the others to follow—but it’s just that one.

_Maybe I’m hearing things… The stress probably has me going mad…_

Hana… lets out a soft chuckle to herself, thinking herself a bit silly for her paranoia.

_Everyone’s probably just getting a good night’s rest. Some of us are going to fight what may be the most important battle of our lives. I am…_

After that revelation, the swordswoman finds herself suddenly growing quite tired. Her face weighs like a sack of flour and her eyelids pull towards the floor. Sleep’s a beautiful temptress clad all in white, and so badly does she want to submit to her—but she can’t. Not yet at least… Something tells her to give it another minute—the minute it’ll take her to walk back to her quarters.

With legs of lead, she begins to drag herself back to her quarters, each step more slothful than the last. She only stops for respite momentarily to stare into an exorbitant mirror that reflects a dying young woman impersonating her. She’s badgered by dark circles around her eyes and bags that hang like loose skin. She’s a sickly shade of pale—one that makes a phantom seem healthy, and something then, tells her to look down to her hands. 

Hana raises her hand to her face in the same pompous way the Nohrian women do and stares at her nails. The free edge has grown a couple millimeters past her finger. She never lets that happen, she’s always preferred them beneath the finger so they wouldn’t hinder with her swordplay, and yet, she hasn’t noticed up until now.

She’s quite shocked, frankly. She isn’t sure what to make of the situation… 

_Have I been neglecting myself that much?_

Hana knows that she’s stressed, but she’s not sure what’s hitting her the worst. Nohr’s slow advance into Hoshidan territory? Seeing Sakura torn from the fact that their numbers just seem to keep dividing? Something else? 

She can only ponder as she stares at the corpse in the mirror… for what feels like forever…

Until she hears that same weeping once more and she’s jolted back to life.

It isn’t just one note this time though, it’s a lingering raucous cacophony; one that’s absolutely grating to the ears—and Hana’s legs begin to move immediately as if suddenly the fatigue had faded. 

She doesn’t know where she was going, just that she lets her ears navigate and lead her towards the sound. She jogs as quickly as she can, the sound of her bare feet against wooden flooring playing in concert with the vocalized pain… and Hana’s shocked at where she ends up.

She’s wound up in front of a wooden door painted off-white, accessorized by dreamcatchers dissonantly. It’s a room that she knows all too well—Setsuna’s room.

_Now_ , Hana actually wonders if she’s going mad. She actually does a double take, wondering if the fatigue was making her start to hallucinate; so much so that she pinches herself. She’s met with a painful verification of a painful reality.

Not once can she recall a time where Setsuna’s shed actual tears. Even with the gravest of wounds and in the most depressive hardships, she’s always been able to stave off the pain that characteristic poker face of hers. Or so she thought, at least…?

For a moment, she wonders if it’s _actually_ her or if she’s traded rooms with someone else. A new recruit as a reward for a job well done? 

It doesn’t take long for Hana to pull herself out of her own thoughts, though. She’s always been a woman of action and this time was no different. With a bashful fist, she knocks on the door, softly calling, “Setsuna?”

Instantly, the sobbing stops and Hana’s left in anticipation of what’s going happen next; a longer anticipation that she’d like. For the first minute, she wonders if she was imagining it, but after that, she’s certain that she _has_ been waiting for quite a while.

Hana begins to tap her foot impatiently, hoping for some kind of climax to this… But Hana knew that if it really was Setsuna, it wouldn’t exactly be outlandish to imagine that she had fallen back into a deep slumber after hearing her voice; that the archer would think it comforting or something.

But that chain of thought is quickly ended when she hears the click of the doorknob, which immediately brings her back to reality. The door opens as painfully slow as nightfall changing to dawn, and Hana’s jaw almost falls agape once she sees what lay behind it.

Clad in a teal nightgown coated with white polka-dots, was Setsuna Akiyama, her hair resembling a bird’s nest, the fringe hanging like a loose flap of skin. Her pastel face was sullied with tears that glistened in the moonlight shining through the glass windows in the hallway, her cheeks a dominant rose—though, from the embarrassment or the strain from crying, Hana wasn’t sure.

But what the samurai found most intriguing, was that she kept that insipid look about her—that distinguishing neutrality towards everything that she carried wherever she went. 

Is it a lie? A ruse? Hana isn’t sure. But she isn’t given time to ponder it, as Setsuna almost immediately speaks.

“Goodnight, Hana.” Her voice drags like it usually does but it’s softer and more mellow than usual—like the whistling of the wind against autumn leaves.

She looks Hana right in the eyes as she speaks with lackadaisical conviction—as if she’s trying to portray tonight as any other night—but the samurai isn’t fooled. She places her fingers in the doorway and asks, “Are you alright?”

“Fine,” Setsuna immediately answers. “I was just about to go to bed… Did you need me for something…?”

“I should be asking you that.”

“Hm?”

“The crying, Setsuna,” Hana begins to explain, placing her hand atop her bust and lowering her voice as she continues. “I… I heard it, you know… I know something is wrong… I’m here if you want to talk.”

Setsuna looks at Hana as if she’s a madwoman squawking gibberish. “Huh…? What… are you talking about…? I’m fine, Hana…”

“Setsuna.” Hana brings her fingertips together and lets them rest atop the bridge of her nose. “I can see the tears on your face.”

“Oh… Whoops…”

“Setsuna, please,” Hana begs. “I’ve never seen you cry. Let me in. Talk to me… Just… _please_ …”

Setsuna sighs, defeated. She sheepishly pushes her fingertips together and closes her eyes as she says, “Okay. Come in,” before stepping out of the doorway, allowing Hana to enter—and she immediately does.

It’s the same room that she remembers—mostly. It’s painted the same baby blue, with the same mix-matched assortment of traditional Hoshidan fans adorning the walls in a somewhat uniform fashion. The same deer head mounted on the wall, the same yumi propped up in the corner, the same glass display case holding that expensive knife that she won in an archery competition.

But the bed seems so unfamiliar.

Setsuna’s always been meticulous about keeping her room clean, but it looks like her bed has been caught in a twister. The sheets are strewn about, falling off the bed, the mattress obtruding unevenly in the corners. Her prized pack of stuff wolves lay everywhere; some on the bed, some at the foot of it—but all laying on their side as if deceased. But none of that is what stands out most.

The middle of the mattress has been splashed—dampened heavily—from what Hana can only assume are tears.

The samurai bites her lips, her eyes fixed on the bed, curiosity brewing. Her eyes slowly shift towards the archer and she finally asks, “Are those tears, Setsuna? On the bed, I mean.”

Her voice is low in volume—sheepish, almost. Admittedly, she wasn’t even quite sure if she should inquire, but her better judgment told her that it’d be best to. But immediately upon asking, she felt her stomach churn. She didn’t dare take time to think on it though. 

She stays in reality, carefully examining Setsuna. The archer’s aquamarine orbs dart around the room, taking a liking to literally everything except her. Her muscles tense in a way that Hana’s seen time and time again—it’s like a warrior preparing for battle.

But despite all of that, she turns her head and her answer is simply, “Maybe…”

“Maybe?”

“It’s… maybe a possibility,” she says, biting her bottom lip. 

Hana sighs and takes Setsuna’s hands, intertwining their long, slender fingers; as she does, she steals Setsuna’s gaze. She notices that the archer’s a bit bashful about it, so offers a gentle smile. “Setsuna,” Hana starts, “you need to talk to me. I know something’s wrong, but I need you to tell me what. I can’t help if you don’t.”

“I…” Setsuna pauses, carefully considering her words before a sigh falls from her mouth. “ _Hana_.”

“Yes?” Hana answers a bit too eagerly, forcing her smile wider.

“Stop… You’re smiling is kind of scary, and I don’t think I want to talk about it…”

Hana lets her lips rest and they naturally curl into a frown. Her fingers press against Setsuna’s knuckles and she considers pulling them back to move them to her face, but she doesn’t; instead, Hana turns her head and says, “But it’s important, Setsuna.” Her voice grows slightly quieter as she asks, “How will I help if you don’t tell me…?”

“I…”

“ _Please_ , Setsuna…”

The archer sighs, releasing Hana’s hands. She takes aggressive steps towards her bed and crashes on it with her arms spread, an exasperated sigh falling from her lips before she tilts her head slightly upward to gaze at Hana before turning her head and muttering, “Sorry… If that was rude, I mean.”

Hana shakes her head and plops herself on the bed next to her, muscles tensed as her hands instinctively find themselves against knees scraped and reddened from today’s relentless training—but she doesn’t notice the stinging sensation; there’s a depressive feeling in her stomach that overpowers all physical pain. “It’s fine.” 

Setsuna feels a hand extend to her shoulder and conflict bubbles within her. She doesn’t fight it though. Hana’s support is far beyond comforting; she appreciates it more than she can describe—but it makes her feel equally as guilty.

She _wants_ to talk—she really does—but whenever she tries, it feels like she’s pulling the words from a cold vice. The air is suffocating, and it feels as if she has a clamp around her mouth that pierces her lips. She looks over to Hana and she sees she’s smiling again; it’s not feigned, but certainly a little forced. 

She’s sick of looking at it. Hana’s always smiling; she’s seen her do it so much that her smiles are more like distinctive dresses. There’s one for every situation, one for every person. But now, they’re torn and tattered; this one definitely is, and it’s a new one.

The bags and dark circles pestering her eyes and marring her face, and the crinkles that form around the edge of the lips of a smile stretching eerily wide are far too unfamiliar. But she understands why. She sees Hana work herself to the line of death day in and day out with her training, and yet, she still finds herself doing so much more. Cooking, cleaning, imbuing other soldiers with her optimism, tending to her liege’s needs. And despite all of that she _still_ finds time to spend with her—to play shogi or go hunting whenever she wanted.

Hana’s no short of amazing to her, but she sees that it all takes its toll on her. She’s essentially a walking corpse, but she’s still trying. So, she closes her eyes and breathes one final sigh before she says, “Okay… I’ll talk…”

Hana’s eyes spark as her heart slams against her chest. The seeds of relief sprout and she can’t help but sigh, sheepishly taking Setsuna’s hands once more. “Good…” 

Once Setsuna sees Hana smile genuinely she, too, is relieved—but it’s all the scarier. She feels the world weigh down on her shoulders, but she still turns those thoughts into words and punches from her larynx. “But it’s scary,” she mumbles.

“Hm?”

“It’s scary,” the archer repeats, raising her volume slightly. She rests her head atop Hana’s shoulder and huddles closer against her. “And… I’m not sure if I should…”

“Setsuna…” Hana clutches the archer’s hands more tightly, her lips now contorted back into a frown, yet she continues to remain intimate eye contact. “You know I said you can tell me anything. We’re best friends, after all.”

“I know, I know,” Setsuna sighs, rubbing her thumbs atop Hana’s knuckles. “But I’m trying my best… I don’t want to get frustrated…”

“Frustrated?” Hana asks. “What for…?”

“With myself… I’m mad that I don’t want to talk about it… because it’s for a stupid reason…”

“Tell me.”

“I…” Setsuna wants to protest, but she lets the words fall back into her larynx; instead, she shakes her head and continues. “I… don’t… think it’s right of me… to cry… So pretend like I wasn’t…”

“I can’t just pretend like you weren’t crying.”

“Please…?”

“I’m sorry, Setsuna,” Hana says while shaking her head, “but the answer’s still no.”

Setsuna melancholily hangs her head. “Oh…”

“ _But_ ,” Hana starts, putting on another smile, “I _promise_ I won’t tell anyone. And you know that every promise that I make is a promise that I keep.”

“Alright…” Setsuna places her hands on shaky knees and shuts her eyes, and for a moment, all her worries appear before her, donning masks of monsters. But, this time, she decides to stare them down instead of submitting; after all, it’s what Hana would do. Her eyes slowly open a few seconds later to a worried Hana, but the look of resolve on her face soon sedates her. “I think I’m ready…”

“And I’m all ears,” Hana says, scooting backward ever so slightly.

Setsuna takes one final sigh—the expulsion of any lingering trepidation—and begins to speak. “I’m worried about the war. The Nohrians are slowly closing in on us, and the closer into Hoshidan territory they come, the weaker our army becomes—and we’re already struggling. We’re taking more risks and it’s weighing down on everyone… I hear Lady Hinoka cry at night sometimes…” Her voice wavers as she utters those final words and Hana places her hand atop the archer’s shoulder; Setsuna, her hand atop hers. “And that’s not normal for me… to see someone like her crying… And everyone just seems… so different—so distant—lately; we don’t feel the same anymore. And… I’m worried I may lose some of you too…” She grits her teeth, sniffling a couple times, tears forming in her eyes. “A-And I don’t want to lose any of you… We’re all like family—the royals, the retainers, everyone in the castle… I-I don’t know where I’d be without any of you…”

As she speaks, Hana takes note of every word—memorizing the exact tone like she’s studying for a test. Even though the voice is familiar, everything else is so unlike the girl she’s spent what feels like a lifetime coming to know. Setsuna’s always been a damsel in distress, but there was always a comedic undertone to it; a laugh to be had whenever she’d fall victim to an obvious pitfall trap. But not now.

Right now, she’s listening to _Setsuna_ —thoughts, feelings, raw emotion—and as much as she’s ashamed to admit it. She’s never known _this_ her; she’s never even known this part of her exists. She’s never seen a Setsuna in the garments of hopelessness and shackled by despair, but now that she has it’s almost surreal.

She’s honestly rendered speechless for a moment; after all, what _can_ she even say in this situation? Setsuna’s absolutely correct. The Nohrians aren’t just normal bandits, they’re serious threats now, and they’re slowly closing in on them like predators to strike at prey, but… Hana’s sure that analogy isn’t right… Right?

For a moment, obsidian optimism is struck with viral despondency, but Hana soon catches herself before those poisonous thoughts take their toll on her.

_No… we will win tomorrow! I know it!_

“No! We will win tomorrow! I know it!” Hana accidentally blurts out before covering her mouth, her cheeks now a very contrasting red against her notably pale skin.

It’s such an obvious accident that it gets a giggle out of Setsuna. “Wow…”

“Ugh! Pretend that I didn’t say that!”

Setsuna cocks her head and asks, “But isn’t that what you’re _supposed_ to say…?”

“O-Oh, um…” Hana raises her hand behind her head, brushing out the knots in her dusty chestnut hair. “Well, it’s the truth… It’s honestly what I genuinely believe… We’ve got an unstoppable fighting force. I mean Yukimura is a veteran, Subaki is the best pegasus knight in the army, I’m, well, me—and I’ve been training hard just so I can give those cape-wearing bastards what’s coming to them, and _most_ of all, have you _seen_ Sakura with a yumi? She’s improved so much! And we’re leading the charge. I don’t care what kind of dirty tactics or weapons or whatever they have.” Hana pumps her chest with her fist and gives Setsuna a confident smirk. “We have _heart_. We’re on the side of good. We have people that we love that we’re going to need to keep fighting for. They don’t have that. They’re all relentless brutes who care about power and gold. The gods are going to bless us, Setsuna. _We’ll_ be the ones to triumph.”

The words spray from her lips without much thought and she’s wearing a confident expression all throughout—but once she replays the words in her head, momentarily the doubt sets in… After all, the Nohrians have come this far… But she doesn’t tolerate it. She shakes the feeling out of her head; Hana’s been waiting to defeat them all this time.

“You’re right,” Setsuna mutters. “That’s why it’s not right of me… to cry about it or be scared…”

“Huh?”

“You’re right, Hana.” Setsuna slumps forward, placing her elbows on her knees and her face in her hands tiredly. “That’s the problem… Everyone is so much better than me… You, especially.” She falls back onto the bed and extends her arms outward. “Like, I see how hard you train; everyone does. You’re so strong-willed, you never keep up, you’re always doing _something_ and you always make time for me. You’re always helping out and you’re always trying to make everyone happy…”

“I—”

“You also never cry.”

“Well, that’s because samurai never cry,” Hana says matter-of-factly. “I won’t allow myself to. It’s just a duty I have, Setsuna. There’s nothing special about me. I just want to be the best me that I can. That’s a me who can’t be affected by tears; a me who has to keep focused on my goals no matter what…”

“Oh.” Setsuna puffs her cheeks and pushes the air out of them. “Why can’t I do that then…? It’s not like we’re all that different. We come from the same noble background, we’re both retainers, and we’re the same age too…”

“You can!” the samurai enthuses with a large grin. “The best me and the best you are different. You don’t have to be like me—or like anyone else either. We all have different skill sets. The things that I’m good at aren’t things that you’re going to be good at. For instance…” Hana purses her lips, thinking of the right response, but she gets it in an instant. “Daydreaming. You’re a lot better at that than me.”

“Daydreams are stupid though,” the archer moans. “They don’t— _won’t_ —help in the war.”

“Maybe you think so, but I disagree. There’s plenty of ways it can help in a war.”

“Oh?” Setsuna tilts her head. “How so?”

Her question makes the brunette take a pause. Up until now, she’s been blathering perfect sentences without much thought—and she’s paying the price for it. Setsuna’s desperate gaze pushes the words deep down into her lungs to the point where she could struggle to breathe—but the moment she sees her smile, she vomits whatever she can back out.

“Like art! Oh! And stories! And haikus!” Hana blurts out.

Setsuna raises an eyebrow inquisitively. “Art, stories, and haikus…?” 

Hana’s not entirely confident with her answer in her own head, but she doesn’t allow herself to show that truth. Instead, she decides to let the words flow freely once more. “Yeah! Like… you could make something to inspire everyone! Your stories or your paintings could take a little edge off of everyone.”

“Oh… Really?”

“Yeah! Have you ever tried anything like that?”

“Well, Azama’s made me write some haikus with him.” Setsuna’s lips curl upward as she raises a finger to her eyes, rubbing the dried tears from underneath them. “Maybe I could try doing that…?”

For her optimism, Hana decides to reward her with her signature smile; the one where she closes her eyes and couples a soft grin perfectly with it. “I’m sure you could. You’d make everyone really happy if you did. You could write something nice that’d inspire the other soldiers. Just be the best you that you can.”

“Alright…” The archer swings back up and immediately wraps Hana in one of her idiosyncratic pillowy hugs—warm like the sun at dawn, and Hana immediately reciprocates the action. “Thank you, Hana,” she whispers, her voice quivering from tectonic happiness; Her hope restored. “So… so… _so_ much.”

“You’re welcome, Setsuna,” the samurai whispers back. “Just… don’t lose hope.”

Setsuna slowly lowers both of them onto the bed, tightening her arms around her. “I promise…” 

As soon as her back reaches the cushiony surface and she realizes she’s still wrapped in Setsuna’s arms, she has a moment of panic, her cheeks colored a bashful that soon lights up her entire face. 

“S-Setsuna,” she shyly mutters, hastily taking her hands off of the archer’s back.

“Stay,” Setsuna breathes.

“H-Huh?!”

“Just for tonight… I need someone, Hana… Please…?”

Hana sighs and bashfully wraps her arms around Setsuna once more, holding her against her even more tightly than before. She can see right into her eyes; into her soul even, and feel it’s warm. But what’s the most telling is the serene smile on her face—one that’s more lively than she’s ever seemed before.

Hana, too, can’t help but smile, pushing the blush on her cheeks further across her face. “Is it good like this?” she asks. “You look comfortable.”

“Yes,” Setsuna says almost immediately, her cheeks turning just as red as Hana’s. “Thank you for this… I’ll find a way to repay you…”

“You don’t need to repay me. We’re friends. Not _just_ friends either. Best friends, Setsuna. This—all of this—these are the things we do for one another. We shouldn’t need to expect anything in turn. I know that if I were in this situation, you’d do the same for me. That’s all that matters.”

“All that matters… I see. You’re right, Hana. I would; in a heartbeat.”

“Setsuna.”

“Hm?”

“Can you do something for me?” Hana asks.

Setsuna nods ever so slightly, barely missing Hana’s forehead. “Yes. What is it?”

“Close your eyes,” the samurai says and Setsuna immediately obeys squeezing her eyes shut. “What do you see?”

“I see…” Setsuna pauses for a moment before saying, “I see Lady Hinoka, Lady Sakura, me, you, and everyone else… We’re all out on the beach after we’ve won the war. We’re all smiling… You, Lady Sakura, Lord Takumi, Oboro, Hinata, and I—we’re all making a sandcastle. We’re trying to make the biggest one that we can! We’re all having so much fun… We can do that once this is all over, right?”

“Of course!” Hana says enthusiastically. “I promise you when _we_ win the war, _we’ll_ have the happy ending that we all deserve. I promise you, Setsuna… Tomorrow I’ll make sure of that. We’ll push them back.”

“If you promise, I’ll trust you… Do everything you can to make it happen. I’ll do everything I can too… Both with the pen and the yumi. You promise?”

“Setsuna, I’ll make magic happen,” Hana says confidently. “Bet everything on me.”

“Alright good,” the archer says with a smile. “I’m going to daydream some more… and I’ll probably doze off.” She pushes Hana’s nose, which immediately pulls a giggle from her. “Boop,” she says sleepily, yawning subsequently afterward and closing her eyes. “Goodnight, Hana…”

“Goodnight, Setsuna,” Hana says, closing her eyes, and as she does, she, too, sees Setsuna’s vision. All of them on the beach enjoying themselves without any care in the world; a happy moment to attain. She wants it badly. Too badly. And as if speaking to herself Hana finishes with, “Sweet dreams…”

Hana can never be sure how a battle will go, but she has faith this time. Faith that the tables will turn in their favor; that the gods will have mercy upon them and let them win.

After all, they’re not like the Nohrians. They have people they love; people they’re fighting for. They have what the Nohrians don’t and that’s heart. The girl laying dormant in her arms entertained by her own universe of thoughts is proof of that, and Hana’s _promised_ that she’s going to do all in her power to make sure that those daydreams of hers become a reality, and she never goes back on her promises.

Hana knows that when she’s going to Fort Jinya the battle won’t be easy but now the stakes have been raised. There’s too much to lose. Everything to lose.

So that’s why she _has_ to win. No matter what.

* * *

Every scream, every wail feels like a year off of Hana’s life; she’s been hearing them so often she feels like she may as well drop dead.

Setsuna’s been crying for what feels like two lifetimes and Hana’s sick of it. The sound of it’s corroded her ears and stinging her eyes. But she doesn’t dare let herself give in to the tears again. She has to be strong; especially for her.

But, for a moment, she’s lodged into the eye of the hurricane and there’s quiet. No sounds of screaming so painful that she can feel her own innards tear just by hearing them, no aggressive sniveling, no muttered words lost in obscurity. Just… silence…

For a moment, Hana wonders if that was it—if all the crying rendered her unconscious… or even lifeless; or if _she_ was the one that keeled over from the pain of witnessing her best friend sob so fiercely, but when Setsuna breaks the silence with a sigh, she realizes it’s none of those extremes… Just that she’s simply calmed down.

“Setsuna,” Hana breathes, her gaze fixed to the archer through reddened eyes that threaten tears as she hugs tightly.

Setsuna turns her head slightly, staring at a blurry image of Hana through tear obfuscated eyes to say, “That’s me,” her voice hoarse. She forces a smile and asks, “H-How can I help, Hana…?”

Her question catches her off-guard, but Hana’s quick to act. She knows how to remedy this. She instantly says, “Close your eyes again… Daydream something nice…!”

But, Setsuna’s response was something she could never expect.

The archer weakly shakes her head from side to side and in that lifeless voice of hers simply says, “No. I’m tired of dreaming…”

“But—”

“Hana. The things I daydream. They never come into being. So I’m not going to delude myself with a fictitious happiness.” She then sighs, forcing her smile further across her face. “I’m… sorry. So so sorry…”

“I—”

“For everything.”


End file.
